They Do Care
by TheLazyBAMF
Summary: There was a shoot out at the Diogenes. A man was assassinated."Expensive clothes, practically screams politician." Sherlock saw the umbrella in Anderson's hands. "What the hell are you doing with that?" Also posted in AO3


Mycroft was nearly killed today.

That was what his assistant was yelling as she scolded his security detail on her blackberry. He scoffed quietly.

He wasn't even the target.

It was a regular day in the Diogenes, he noticed a new butler, which wasn't odd in itself. A glance confirmed that he wasn't used to the traditions of the club. He noticed the gleaming silver too late though. He yelled a warning to the politician just a few feet away from him but the gun had already gone off. He quickly raised to his feet and tackled the man to the ground. There was another gunshot and he worried he'd have to deal with more paperwork until he felt a burst of pain in his right shoulder. A rightly aimed punch and a quick smash of an umbrella handle to the nose and the attacker was out cold.

A few bruises and a grazed shoulder won't kill him. Well, that's what he said to his assistant and the paramedics but they insisted.

This wound won't kill him but if he was killed, if he had been killed earlier...would anyone care?

This got him in quite a mood.

His parents are dead, his brother apparently hates him. Perhaps the queen would feel sad for a few days. The prime minister would surely miss his quick solutions. The country would suffer a great deal lot for a few years, noting too noticeable. It won't collapse according to his calculations.

Anthea might miss his presence. Being constantly beside someone for seven years tends to make people attached.

It's quite depressing thinking about your death. It's more depressing thinking about how people won't miss you when you finally die.

He shook his head. He blamed the shock for his odd mood.

Scotland Yard was called and he could faintly hear DI Lestrade just outside.

His brother won't be called. It's a pretty straight forward murder. He could tell them all they need to know; then again proving his point would require legwork.

He gave his statement to Sally Donovan.

"Looks like we won't need the freak for this one."

He always hated that word.

"Excuse me?" He asked with a fake confused smile.

"Lestrade sometimes asks a consultant to come over and have a look." she answered, almost spitting out the 'consultant'.

He had half the mind to retort a comeback when he caught Anthea's eye.

Oh dear God, did she- she did!

She alerted his brother. Just what he needs.

He almost rolled his eyes as he heard the DI's phone.

"Hello? Oh hey."

"How did you know there was a shoot out?"

"Yes. A bloke's been murdered."

Anthea's walking towards him. Lestrade had his back turned to her, Donovan blocked her.

He could practically hear the mischievous cackle in her head.

"I haven't looked at him properly yet. Well, he's in an expensive suit. Everything about him shouts politician."

"I'm his assistant." her voice laced with a bit too much agitation. A little too loud if you asked him.

"It's fine. It's a pretty straight forward case."

"What do you mean you're already in a cab? Sherlock-"

He could sense the irritation in the room as they heard Sherlock's name.

"That was not necesarry."

"I merely alerted your brother that there was a shoot out in the club. If he chose to come, it is with his own free will sir."

His hand searched for the familiar bamboo handle if his umbrella when he caught himself. It's been temporarily confiscated. The killer's blood got on it when he smashed it in the man's nose.

"Have my umbrella picked up and cleaned as soon as possible."

He said as he watched Anderson inspect it before exiting the room, presumably to put it in the van.

"Yes sir."

He heard hurried steps before the tell-tale yell of "What the hell are you doing with that?"

There was horror in the voice. As well as concern. Odd. Then again, the handle of the umbrella was covered with blood.

He first saw John appear on the door. John located him and he saw him heave a sigh of what he assumes to be relief before smiling at him in greeting. He nodded and raised his eyebrow.

"Sherlock!" John called to the hallway. He was probably enjoying yelling in the once silent corridors of the club.

He glanced at Mycroft briefly, almost saying something akin to 'I'll be right back.' before ducking out.

Where was Sherlock? He could faintly hear an argument brewing between the forensic scientist and the consulting detective but he can't make out the words.

Anthea was trying her best not to smile. She could practically picture Sherlock hurling abuse at Anderson.

Mycroft was confused until he looked at Anthea. Oh. Oh.

Anthea did not inform Sherlock that he was injured nor that he was alright. She merely said that there was a shoot out. Sherlock could not contact her because she was busy chewing out his security detail.

The description Lestrade gave was vague enough to resemble any businessman or politician but seeing as though his brother's assistant informed him of the shoot out not to mention overhearing Anthea's voice on the line.

Mycroft could practically work out how his brother's mind pictured the scene. Lestrade a few feet away from the body, if he could hear Anthea's voice it was only logical that she was going towards the body. The body of his presumably dead brother.

No wonder Sherlock was horrified to see Anderson holding Mycroft's bloodied umbrella.

He was upset. That was oddly reassuring. Warmth spread in his chest.

Anthea rolled her eyes as she watched her employer begin to comprehend exactly what happened.

"I told you, he's alive."

They practically John yell through the corridors.

"Alive as in not-dead on the floor."

There was a pause.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as Sherlock strode to the room, appearing to be calm (his breathing suggested otherwise.)

John just shook his head.

"I told you, Sherlock. This is an easy case probably not even a three." Lestrade said.

"Nonesense. Have you talked to the witnesses?"

"Everyone says that the killer posed as a butler. That fellow over there-" Donovan pointed to him. "was the one to beat the killer."

"Oh really."

Oh dear. John merely sent him an apologetic look.

"And what may I ask is so surprising?"

"A lazy git like you could actually throw a punch?"

"Hey freak, stop insulting t-"

"Are you sure you weren't the target?" the teasing voice turned serious.

"Of course. Mr. Harrold was sitting over there when he was killed " he pointed to the chair that the corpse previously occupied."Whereas I was sitting here."

"And no, his gun only had two bullets in it so he was not planning on massacring everyone here earlier. I have people figuring out what organization he belonged to."

"One for the target, one for him."

"Precisely."

John was trying not to laugh at the baffled expressions of everyone excluding him, Greg's and not-Anthea's.

Sherlock's eyes landed on his bloodied sleeve and the bandages underneath.

"Merely a flesh wound. Don't be concerned."

"I'm not concerned."

Anthea and John rolled their eyes.

"Wait, am I missing something?" Sally asked as she eyed the two Holmes.

"Holmes may be a common name Srgt. Donovan, but perhaps not as common as you may believe." he gave her a pointed look.

"Anthea I do believe I have a meeting in an hour."

"You're going on a meeting with that thing?" John asked exasperatedly as he looked at the wound suspiciously.

" A change of suit and a quick shower can do wonders Dr. Watson."

"But you just- Nevermind."

"Don't worry about it Dr. Watson. I cancelled the meeting five minutes ago "

"That was not necessary, my dear. Are we free to go, Detective Inspector?"

" 'Course you are Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you." he nodded at the other dignitaries being questioned before he walked away from them then turning back before he reached the door.

"You're free to join us for tea if you like, John, brother." Anthea was shocked at the offer. Normally her boss enjoyed his tea in silence, often in isolation.

Donovan's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. With a muttered "Oh God there's two of them." she went back to the body while Sherlock smirked.

"Sure. We'd love too." John grinned.

He was greatful that Mycroft asked. After the scare they had- not to mention the scare Sherlock had- a nice cuppa would do wonder for their nerves.

John and Anthea shared a look when Sherlock discreetly assisted his brother get in the car before following in himself, allowing his brother the window seat.

And they say they didn't care.


End file.
